Chapter 18: 18_Blatant lies

“Steel?” There was a heavy knock at the door.

“Yes.”

The door opened and Ivar hurried breathlessly in. “I can’t do this any longer! That princess is unreasonable, I swear it!”

Gunn looked pointedly at Thoran and was firmly ignored.

“Why? What’s happened?”

“Well, I mean, her endless demands, for one!” Wiping the sweat on his forehead with one sleeve, Ivar shook his head in surrender. “She wants a personal bedchamber, she wants this bedchamber to have an *adjoined* bathroom. There must be a handmaiden to assist her at all times, this maid must know how to cook a *variety* of dishes. Oh! And she must get nine *full* hours of sleep each night or she *“cannot be herself”!* There must be complete silence during those nine hours and a cup of tea waiting when she awakes! I’m losing the fucking plot, I tell ya!”

“Oh, forget it!” a dainty voice said nearby. “I’ll tell him myself!”

Startled, Ivar listened to the approaching footsteps and then rushed across the room to stand behind Thoran.

“Excuse me, Mr. Barbarian?” Amethyst called, walking into the room. “I must have a w—”

She froze. With a small shriek, she turned around, staring wide-eyed at the door. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t… I didn’t realize you were naked!!”

Frowning, Thoran looked down at himself. He was well-covered by his grey trousers, what was she on about?

“Your rock-carved muscular frame has harmed the princess’s delicate sensibilities,” Gunnar said dryly. “Be a proper gentleman, Steel, and cover those offensive chest muscles.”

Thoran glared at him. “What are you still doing here?”

“Simply observing.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gunnar,” Amie said, grateful he’d so kindly interjected on her behalf. “It is my fault for not knocking—”

“Yes, it is,” Thoran added, grabbing a shirt. “But how kind of Mr Gunnar to defend your delicate sensibilities.”

It was Gunnar’s turn to glare.

“Talk to her,” Ivar whispered in Thoran’s ear, gripping his arm.

“Can you not—” Pulling his arm away, Thoran gave him a look. “Pull yourself together, Ivar, bloody hell.”

Scowling, Ivar turned away and crossed his arms in the most petulant manner Thoran had ever seen. Just how bad was she that she’d gotten Ivar in this state when even the most frustrating of the men (Harald) hadn’t managed to do it in years?

Sighing, he pulled on his shirt and marched across the room to where Amethyst stood.

With a single finger, he tapped her shoulder. “What exactly is the problem?”

“Are you decent?”

He raised a brow, studying the delicate curve of her neck. It was just as smooth and fair as the rest of her. Bloody hell, had the girl never seen sunshine in her life? His fingers itched to reach up, stroke the softness of her skin. Ridiculous, she was a Gadon brat. Off-limits.

“Decent." He lightly clenched his jaw, still studying the way her thick hair moved against her skin. "That isn’t a word I’d ever use to describe myself. Filthy is more appropriate. Dirty.”

She went still, the low murmur of his words and the words themselves seeming to reach out and trail a finger along the back of her neck. A sudden swarm of warmth wrapped her in a blanket of heat. It felt like there was barely space between their bodies for air to sneak through, making her highly aware of him behind her.

She moved. Her back brushed his chest.

*********

Amie gave herself a shake. Why was she behaving this way? It was most unbecoming of a princess to have thoughts in that direction and for a criminal, no less!

Angrily, she spun around and glared up at him.

Thoran frowned at the glare. “You’re clearly very cross. Care to—”

“I want a proper bed chamber.”

“You have one.”

“No, clearly you don’t know what a proper bed chamber is,” she said, crossing her arms and lifting her chin like he was her peasant butler.

Thoran clenched his jaw, a storm brewing in his grey eyes as he looked down at her.

“What I want,” she went on. “Is a good bed, a personal bathroom adjoined to the bedroom and, of course, I’ll need a maid to help me with minor things, to be cooking my meals and helping me dress.”

Something glinted in his eye. “Okay. Anything else?”

“I made the polite request to be given nine hours a night so I can sleep well, but then Ivar over there reacted as though I’m an unreasonable hysteric for doing so.”

“You want nine hours when we barely manage to scrape up four hours sleep per night?”

Her eyes widened. “F… four?! No, that won’t be enough. I have a body that tends to need a lot of rest, it’s…. odd for a Vamp, but that’s just how I am.”

He looked at her with a dark expression for a moment and then dropped his gaze to her necklace. Someone who depended on a gem for strength and still couldn’t be at her full potential with less than nine hours of sleep. And she thought she could take him on.

One side of his mouth quirked up as he scoffed.

Her brows rose. “Was that… mockery?”

“You’ll get everything you’ve requested,” he said.

Ivar jolted with shock. “Steel!” he whispered. “No!”

Thoran ignored the fierce whispers on the other side of the room. “Bedchamber, personal bathroom adjoined, maid to cook, dress you and take care of you.”

Looking pleasantly surprised, she nodded. “Yes, that’s it. Of course, the bed chamber has already been sorted since you’ve assigned me my own room in the inn.”

“We’re leaving tomorrow.”

Her face froze with shock. “What? Why?”

He frowned like it was obvious. “We’re Barbarians, *prencessi.* We’re not here on vacation.”

She sighed, pressing two fingers to her temple like they were causing her far too much distress.

The only person distressed was poor Ivar.

She flicked slim fingers. “Fine. If we’re travelling, I’d like my own carriage, please.”

His face twisted with distaste. “You think we have vehicles lined up to cater to you?”

“Then I'll just go home if you don’t.” she countered.

For an intense moment, they silently stared at each other.

“Fine," he finally muttered. "But you’ll have to share with someone.”

She thought it over. “If I must, it will be Mr. Gunnar. He seems to be the kindest around here.”

Thoran scoffed so hard Amethyst was startled.

“Was that mockery?” Gunnar demanded with a raised brow, his accent sounding suspiciously similar to Amie’s. “How dare you, Steel?”

“Oh, shut up,” Thoran said over his shoulder.

Amie was stunned to see a clear hint of humour in his usually stony expression.

He looked at her, all stone and steel again. “Alright, *prencessi.* You can ride with Gunnar.”

Satisfaction washed over and Amie straightened her spine proudly, failing to stifle her smile.

******

Thoran Steel was a lying criminal. Gritting her teeth as the vehicle shook and rattled beneath her butt, Amie stared intensely at the side of his head, glaring a hole through his temple.

“Hey!” Harald yelled at Gunnar. “What kind of driver are you? You better handle yer vessel like a true captain of the seas, ‘less you want us all to fall off and perish in the deep—”

“Shut up,” Bjorn muttered.

An argument ensued with all the loud chaos that was customary to this particular tribe of Barbs. Silent amidst the racket, Amethyst clenched her teeth harder.

Thoran hadn’t given her her own vehicle to be shared with the kind Mr. Gunnar. Of course, he hadn’t, she’d been a fool to believe him in the first place!

Not only was it a rickety wooden cart and not a carriage, as she’d requested, but she also wasn’t the only passenger. A big shoulder bumped roughly into hers as the big men behind her passed bottles of alcohol around, laughing merrily at Harald and Bjorn’s banter.

Clutching the edge of the cart, she bit her lip tightly. There were at least five guys on this cart, their bulky bodies taking up most of the space and their animated, erratic gestures taking up the little that remained. Some of them, like Harald, sat carelessly on the edge of the cart, legs dangling down toward the spinning wheels as their drinks sloshed in the cups they held. An inch of the space was occupied by a furious Amethyst who pressed herself against the side of the cart, gripping the edge as she stared at the Barbarian she hated.